


Beauty and the Geek

by Hestia01



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, I can't be the only one who ships this, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hestia01/pseuds/Hestia01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frohike and Scully end up on a date together</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the X-Files, they’re owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, et al. This is probably a good thing, considering what mischief I might have wreaked upon it 
> 
> Author’s Note: This is what happens when crack-shipping goes a little too far. I’m not, however, trying to write a parody. Bear with me, I hope it’s done as realistically as possible, considering the subject matter.

7:30pm Bistro Chez Francine

 

Frohike is sitting by himself at a table for two. The ambient darkness of the restaurant is dispelled only by a single white taper candle in the middle of the table. A woman in her late twenties is led by a maitre‘d to his table and they regard each other cautiously.

 

“Hi…I’m Nicole. Are you…?”

 

He stands nervously, nearly knocking the table over in his haste. “Melvin Frohike. Enchanted to meet you at last. After all the writing we’ve done back and forth these past few weeks, I’ve been looking forward to finally seeing you face to face. Your profile picture doesn’t do you justice.” He holds his hand out to her with a big smile.

 

From the look on his date’s face, he can tell that she is less than “enchanted” by their meeting. She doesn’t even bother to smile back, let alone take his hand. Her face is an obvious study of disappointment. “Look, I’m really sorry about the mix-up…but I really didn’t expect…I mean that you’re…quite a bit older than I thought…” Frohike lets his arm drop back to his side, crushed. “You never said…I mean I just assumed, you looked different in your picture…Look, I feel bad about this, but we’re obviously not a good match. Dinner’s on me, but I can’t…” She backs away awkwardly, speaks to a server and hands him her credit card. It’s charged with an open tab. Once that’s set up and her conscience is clean, she practically runs for the exit.

 

Special Agent Dana Scully observes this scene from a secluded nook. She takes a sip of water and looks back down into her folder with a sigh. _He might be a creepy little nerd, but the least that girl could do is sit through one date with him, especially if they’ve been writing each other for that long._ She thinks, giving the ‘new’ generation a mental eye-roll in disgust of their lack of manners. Looking up at him again, she sees him staring despondently into the candlelight; a single pink carnation lies across the table, obviously intended for his date. Scully feels something twist inside her, almost nausea, silently willing him to look up and see her. _He needs a friend tonight…and so do I._

 

It’s a busy night at the restaurant, and although she’d been seated over ten minutes ago, no one had come to take her order yet. She’s patient, though; they can only do so much at once, just like any job. There’s some small pleasure to be had, watching people.

The wait staff in particular—people treat them with little consideration, even outright rudeness, but they still do their best to appear friendly and courteous to any and all. The doors to the kitchen swing open and Scully can even hear at least one cook singing as they work. Even the downtrodden servants of the masses have the heart to sing. This thought comforts Scully from her previously morbid mood, giving her reason to rethink her own attitude. Just when she’s considering knocking her glass over, Frohike chances to look in her direction. The effect is immediate: relief crosses his features, as anyone who, when in troubling times, sees they’re not as alone and friendless as they might’ve thought. He smiles, and Scully surprises herself by smiling back with a wave. Frohike returns this with a beckoning gesture, clearly inviting her to join him. After a moment’s thought _it’s one thing to ask someone else to do it, but now I’m getting sucked in to a date with Frohike?!_ Still, she packs up her briefcase and makes way for his table. Along the way, she briefly makes eye-contact with her server, she points over at Frohike’s table and the server nods, understanding.

 

Again, Frohike rises to receive his dinner date. “Agent Scully, you’re looking lovely as always.”

 

“I saw the whole thing. What a bitch,” she bluntly observes as she takes her seat. A server brings her a glass of water and a menu, leaving them for the time being.

 

“Apparently I’m too old for her,” he mutters, trying to look as though it doesn’t matter.

 

Scully shakes her head firmly, “She’s just a young’un. Do I want to know what you used as your profile picture?”

 

Frohike shifts uncomfortably, admitting, “Sean Connery, _Diamonds are Forever_.”

 

With a knowing smirk, she changes the subject, “So, have you been here before?”

 

“I don’t get out much, you know that. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m…very glad to see you.”

 

Again, she smiles briefly in spite of herself. _Is this what normal people feel when they’re out with friends?_ “Me, too. It’s my Dad’s birthday today.” Another wave of melancholy sweeps over her and she breaks eye-contact, looking very interested in the menu.

 

“Where is he now?”

 

She pauses, unsure how to answer without being off-putting. “Heaven.”

 

“Oh. Scully, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

 

She brushes it aside, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I guess I just came out here tonight to…torture myself or something.”

 

“Look, that gal left a running tab going, so order whatever you want.”

 

With a dark smile, Scully replies, “Revenge is a dish best served…with black truffles.” They both laugh wickedly, their eyes are automatically drawn to the more elaborate and expensive menu items. The chef’s repertoire covered everything from elevated versions of country-style Bonne Femme dishes, to extravagant pieces inspired by Auguste Escoffier and other greats. A quick perusal tells Scully that she’ll have to leave her strict diet at the door. She’s in a real French bistro and will consequently have to deal with copious amounts of butter and cream.

 

“Who wrote the menu?” she breathes, reading the intricate descriptions of each dish. “It’s like reading a romance novel.” Now that his attention is drawn towards it, all Frohike can do is moan desirously.

 

“Yeah, the good parts,” he agrees, equally breathless. He then turns to the wine list, intent on selecting the very best; after all, how many times does he get the chance to entertain Scully, especially when it’s on someone else’s account! Soon, a server stands over them.

 

“Have you made your drink selection?” he inquires, looking between the two. _Either he’s got something I don’t see or I’m missing something here,_ he observes, evaluating the mismatched couple. _Maybe she’s his sister. Nah, she’s too cute to be his sister. A niece, maybe?_

 

Scully is the first to recover herself, “Do you have any recommendations?”

 

“Personally, I enjoy our peach aperitif. It’s sweet, but not cloying, a good opener I think for just about any meal.”

 

Frohike and Scully look at each other, “That sounds good,” he agrees. “Two glasses.” When they arrive, Frohike proposes a toast. “To your father: while I never had the pleasure of meeting him, I’ve always been a fan of his work,” he says with a suggestive look.

 

“To family, and friends, even unexpected ones,” Scully amends, already feeling better despite the feeling that he just undressed her with his eyes.

 

They look back over the menu, but it’s nearly impossible to pick just one dinner selection when it all sounds so good. Scully ends up ordering baked squab in puff pastry, while Frohike orders the extravagant Tournedos Rossini. While they wait for it to arrive, they ‘talk shop’, dissecting the finer points of theology, modern science, and conspiracy theories all in one go. More than once, Frohike is rewarded with the sound of Scully’s uninhibited laughter.

 

As Scully takes her first bite, her eyes roll up in her head and she nearly swoons. “How can people say there is no God, Frohike, when there are things like _this_ in the world?”

 

He very nearly agrees, as the silken blend of choicest beef with foie gras puree touches his lips, there must be some proof of the divine on Earth.

 

They clink glasses again, this time filled with a dark red Cabernet. “1987, a very good year,” Scully assesses.

 

“Where were you in 87?”

 

“I just finished my residency, actually. Became a ‘real doctor’. Then, I figured that an MD was just my opening act.”

 

“I’m glad you thought so. If you stuck with medicine without going into the FBI we’d never have known each other.”

 

“I’d never have met Mulder, never…anything,” she agrees, unable to imagine what her life would have been like if she’d never ‘rebelled’. Her whole life was based on that decision.

 

“What is squab, anyway?” Frohike wants to know, changing the subject abruptly.

 

“It’s French for pigeon. Here, try it.”

 

“Pigeon? Like the ones that crap on my car?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” She uses a torn-off scrap of pastry to soak up the residual demi-glace from her plate. She all but licks it clean.

 

He takes her offered sample and just about has another food-gasm. “Remind me to buy a shotgun and get a hunting license within city limits.”

 

Scully giggles, feeling uncharacteristically feminine tonight, forgetting she’s in the company of a distasteful, perverted, paranoid little troll because she’s having too good a time having dinner with a friend. She receives a taste of his dish in return and nearly dies of pleasure. Someone on a rigid low-fat diet would never before have given over to the siren song of foie gras and black truffles, not to mention richly prepared red meat. Her unfettered reaction to it warms Frohike all over. In a moment of unforeseen courage, he reaches across the table and takes her hand.

 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t withdraw. Looking at their hands with a short laugh, she squeezes back a little before freeing it to reach for the dessert menu. Fig tart with crème anglaise, and a side of Manchego cheese sounds just right after the meal she’s had. Frohike opts out of dessert, and is simply content to watch his unexpected date enjoy hers. Hearing her describe the meal as “better than sex”, he is given the guest check and marks that their server should get an enormous tip from this evening, all courtesy of Miss Nicole Total-Strangerface.

 

As Scully finishes the last bites of her dessert, giggling at one of Frohike’s jokes that wasn’t really funny at all, he asks, “Are you sure you can drive home all right?”

 

“I’m fine, I really am,” she assures him, holding her chin in her palm. “Why do you have to keep all that’s good about you so secret, though? You’re a sweet guy when you’re not acting like a letch. And I remember…that time back in Vegas when you got me away from those guys in the bar, when I wasn’t…quite myself. You were a gentleman. You _are_ when you put your mind to it.”

 

“I try not to let that get out,” he answers, unsure what else he can say about that. They stand to leave, both of them hovering awkwardly. He holds the carnation out to her which she accepts shyly. “Thanks for joining me tonight.”

 

“I had a good time, thank you for inviting me. It’s just what I needed, really, if you’ll believe it.”

 

They leave together and head for the parking lot. The whole way there, Scully is grappling with her wills. Just before she gets in her car, she stops short, looking lost for words. “Hey, uh…g-give me a call sometime. This was fun.”

 

Frohike can scarcely believe his ears. He looks at her carefully, searching for some sign of sarcasm or insincerity. Finding none, he nods. “Sure, I…most certainly will.”

 

 

The minute she pulls out into traffic, Scully’s head snaps back out of the pleasant haze it had been in all evening. _I just had a date with_ Frohike _?? And liked it? Oh, god, I told him to call me!_ She stops at a light, thumping her head against the steering wheel. The light turns green again and she gets moving, now letting herself remember how nice an evening she’d just had. _I would never have expected it to go so well._ After the initial horror is past, she starts feeling pretty good about things again. _What’s the worst that could happen? He calls, we go out again, and it gives me something to do. Good clean fun._ She finds herself smiling again as she recalls her date, glancing over at the flower resting on the passenger seat.

 


	2. The Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the date, their friends give their input on the evening

 

The next morning, Mulder has beaten her to work by a clear 10 minutes, and is already going through their next case when Scully comes gliding in. She sits down and opens her laptop with a content smile on her face. Mulder watches her curiously; this time yesterday there had been a pall of death and despair surrounding his partner and friend. It’s certainly an improvement, but he has no idea of the cause.

 

“Morning, Scully,” he ventures.

 

“Morning!” she replies in a chipper tone, seeming eager to get down to business, fingers flying over the keyboard like a concert pianist.

 

“You seem…better today. Do anything last night?”

 

Her fingers halt, frozen in place as she considers what to tell him. “I had a date, actually.”

 

“You didn’t say you had a date lined up last night! I thought you were planning on brooding at that new French place.”

 

“I did, I went to Chez Francine. And I didn’t _plan_ on seeing anyone…it just sort of happened.”

 

Mulder leans back in his chair, hoping to advertise his nonchalance, and apparent lack of jealousy. “So, who’d you bump into? Couldn’t be anyone I know.”

 

Her lips twitch into a smirk, resuming her typing. “You do, actually.”

 

For a moment, the only sound in the office is the creak of Mulder’s chair and the clacking of Scully’s keyboard. All attempts to play it cool are thrown aside. “Who?” he demands.

 

Batting her eyes at him in feigned femininity, she sighs in a long-suffering way. “I _really_ don’t see what difference that makes.” Her attempt to get him off the subject is backfiring, she’d really rather conceal the truth as long as she can, considering how Mulder would most likely react to it, but the more she puts it off the more curious he’s bound to be.

 

Two can play this game. Mulder goes back to the folder that lay open on his desk, flipping pages with an offhand shrug. “Fine, keep secrets, you’re such a _girl_ ,” he mutters in obvious distaste. “You just seemed to be in a good mood when you got in, I was wondering who to send the thank-you note to.”

 

They continue to ‘work’ and ignore each other in silence. Scully is weighing out in her mind whether she should come clean.

 

“Promise not to laugh?”

 

Mulder looks up slowly, _she’s cracked!_ “All right…” he can’t help but feel a little apprehensive. _Someone I know…that she’s afraid I’ll tease her about…oh god, it couldn’t be!_

 

“Because if you give me crap for this, Mulder, I’ll poison you in your sleep and make it look like an accident.” There’s another long silence as she decides. “It was Frohike. I…had dinner with Frohike last night, all right? It was a surprisingly enjoyable evening. He can be really sweet when he sets his mind to it.”

 

Clapping his hand over his mouth just in time, Mulder stares at her. “Wow, uh…that’s…unexpected,” he carefully states. “Good for you.”

 

Scully glowers at him warningly, “We might do it again sometime,” she reveals, further testing the waters.

 

Still resolved not to laugh or hurl a smart remark at her, Mulder tightens his grip on the file in his hands, crumpling the edges and marring it with sweat marks. “Great. Wonderful.”

 

She abandons her computer and approaches Mulder’s work area, peering at the papers in his hands. “So, what are we doing today?”

 

“Apart from discussing your love life?” he shoots back wildly. “I…just started looking through this one here,” he covers, hoping she’ll ignore his sarcasm a second ago.

 

Slipping on her glasses to read it better, Scully skims over the cover page in short order. “We dealt with something like this in Arizona, didn’t we? We could just save the trip and call their local police and get a few priests rounded up while we’re at it, couldn’t we? That’s what happens when they build a mini-mall on an Indian burial ground.”

 

Mulder reads further, upon closer inspection it does seem to be a familiar situation. “You just don’t want to miss your next date with ‘Melvin’,” he gently teases, punctuating it with a mock kissy-face.

 

“If you want to go to Skinner, request funds, fly out to Oklahoma and do the hokey-pokey with the townsfolk, be my guest. I’m already packed. I just thought there could be a better use of our time and resources.”

 

By way of reply, Mulder grumbles incomprehensibly, shoving the folder out of sight into a veritable black hole of rejects. For once he can see it would be a waste of time, too, he just disguises his agreement with moody snarling. Looking for something else to vent his frustration on, he starts fiddling with a large novelty paperclip, twisting it and bending it out of shape.

 

Before he can do damage to anything else in his desk, Scully lays a hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, Tarzan. I’m sure you can find something that’ll keep you happy.” She watches as he angrily flips through other possibilities, his dark mood beginning to taint the surrounding area. It’s then that Scully suspects that he’s not just being childishly petulant because of the case… _could he really be jealous?_ _And if he is, what of it? I’ve waited for him to straighten his head out long enough. I’m done, someone else has openly expressed an interest and I’m going to see where it goes. Mulder has no right to be upset. I was never his to lose._ She watches him sort through folders, to her surprise he’s even tossed some into the ‘Fake’ tray. _Either business is really slow today, or even he’s feeling jaded._

 

“Look on the bright side, Mulder. If nothing gets handed our way by 4:30 we’ll have a weekend off.”

 

Grunt.

 

Scully shakes her head disapprovingly; she’s put up with too much from him in the past without resorting to the silent treatment herself. If he wants to be that way, fine, but he can’t expect any sympathy from her!

 

“Have you been to Chez Francine?”

 

“You know I don’t eat that stuff,” he grumbles, not looking at her.

 

“It’s really nice. White tablecloth without being snooty.”

 

“Maybe you and Melvin can go there for your engagement party, too,” Mulder sneers. It’s really not that funny. They’re two of his closest friends, both of whom are incredibly lonely people. _If they had a good time, I should try to be happy for them. God, she went out with_ Frohike _?? And liked it? He’s been nothing but a perverted, obnoxious little twerp around her since the day they met! What did I miss?_

 

By now, Scully has given up trying to talk to him, but shoots him dirty looks every so often. She’s beginning to feel filled with self-disgust, all those years waiting for Mulder to grow up and notice what was right in front of him. All wasted. And now, seeing him at his most childish, it makes her wonder what she ever saw in him. His remarks hadn’t gone far enough to risk wrecking their friendship, but it was enough to knock the stars out of her eyes when she looked at him. Letting out a sigh, a silent farewell to her previously held fantasies, she finds her thoughts drift toward her more recent ‘suitor’. In spite of his usual degrading attitude towards women, he’s always treated her with respect. Maybe not obvious respect, as he’d oftentimes refer to her in racy pseudonyms _The Scrumptious Agent Scully was my personal favorite_ , she admits to herself, but she knows he means well. The feeling she’d get from being with ‘the Three Stooges’ brings a smile to her face. Recalling the Queen Anne incident, running out of FBI Headquarters with several pursuers at her heels, she remembers them helping her into the van as the door slammed shut and they sped off into the distance. She’d felt safe, among friends, _dare I say it, one of them?_ Recalling times like these makes her feel fonder of the little nerd than she thought herself capable of.

 

Mulder watches his partner out of the corner of his eye, utterly disturbed by the dreamy smile he sees on her face. _If she’s thinking about Frohike and smiling like that…I always figured the thought of him would make her want to hurl. Still…she looks happy._

 

“Hey, Scully?”

 

“What?” her tone is icy.

 

“Look…sorry for the stuff I said, all right? You’re my friends, and if you two had a good time together I shouldn’t make a joke out of it.”

 

Scully doesn’t know quite what to think of his apology. She nods, which he takes as an acceptance. “Just don’t do it again. You of all people know I have very few opportunities to get out and enjoy myself.” She stops, this is starting to sound like a lecture. “I know it looks and sounds strange. I couldn’t believe it myself at first.”

 

From the sounds of things, Mulder can sense that they’ve made up, so he takes his chance for one last stab. “So, think you’ll keep your last name?”

 

Scully responds to this the best way she knows how: her patented ‘you’re crazy’ face, and a disgusted headshake. Muttering under her breath, she turns back to her computer.

 

“Okay, I’m done now, all right?”

 

Looking up at him doubtfully, she sighs and tries to sort her own head out. “I knew this is how you’d react. It’s understandable, too. I just…I haven’t been _out_ with anyone in…I don’t know, years by now I guess. Strange as it might sound, it was nice. _He_ was nice. He’d arranged to meet some girl he found on one of those internet dating sites, when she discovered he wasn’t Sean Connery she ditched him. That’s when I stepped in.” Scully stops her reminiscing, cupping her face in her hand.

 

X-X-X

 

 

“Well…look what the cat dragged in,” Langley sneers snarkily, as Frohike comes through the door. “How went the date?”

 

Sitting down with the expression of a man in a dream, Frohike considers for a moment keeping his evening to himself. However, faced with the opportunity to spill, he can’t keep from shouting about his good fortune. “Date?” He repeats coyly.

 

“Yeah, that Nicole chick from the internet. What’s she like in person?”

 

Unable to conceal a triumphant smile, Frohike spins in his seat, “Ah, my friend…it is my excellent fortune that Nicole…is a shallow, superficial, stuck-up little bitch with less honor than a Romulan.”

 

Not looking up from his computer, Langley surmises, “So you went to bed with her, didn’t you?”

 

“No. Oh, no, my long-haired hippy pal. What’s more, I wouldn’t if she begged me to. The Nefarious Nicole What’s-her-name took off before we even got started. Ran screaming into the night. Who should I see then, sitting three tables away, brooding in some secluded corner of the bistro? Our own Agent Scully. She’d witnessed the whole exchange, and in a fit of sympathy or momentary insanity--”

 

“My vote’s for insanity.”

 

Frohike actually giggles when he recalls this, “She joined me.”

 

“Well, let me take a sip of something so I can do a spit-take. Are you for real? Agent Scully came over to your table of her free will and own accord?”

 

“Not only that, she joined me for dinner. We talked all night. It was probably 11 o’clock by the time we got out of there. She acts tough all the time, but she’s really a sweet young thing. I think she’s as lonely as any of us,” Frohike deduces, in a moment of uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

 

Swiveling around to regard his compatriot, Langley adjusts his glasses. “She actually sat through a whole actual dinner with you, without any blackmail involved? She must be lonely if she’d do that willingly.” His tone is harsh and sarcastic, but it’s meant well enough.

 

Frohike puts his hand out and takes the other man by the shoulder. “She even told me to call her.”

 

This time Langley really _does_ do a spit-take! As he hastily wipes off his keyboard and monitor, he splutters, “For real? She told you to call her?!”

 

“Yep…she said, and I quote, ‘This was fun.’ Now I just have to come up with something either as good as or better than the first date.”

 

“You’re sure she wasn’t under mind control? Her implant isn’t acting up or anything?”

 

With a cocky grin that would do Cary Grant proud, Frohike tilts back in his chair. “What can I say? Some of us got it, some of us don’t.”

 

“From what I hear, what _you’ve_ got can get cleared up with penicillin. Just don’t do anything stupid, it sounds like a trick to me.”

 

Frohike’s brash demeanor slips, “Trick?”

 

Langley fixes the older man with a worldly look, “Couldn’t she and Mulder have cooked this up somehow? Dupe you into thinking you had a shot at her? I mean, seriously. It’s Scully. What would she want with you all of a sudden?”

 

“I don’t believe it. She’d never do that.”

 

“If Mulder put her up to it? I can see it. Probably went something like this: ‘Frohike’s been chasing your skirt and staring down your blouse long enough, let’s see what happens when the dog finally catches a car.’”

 

The scene his friend painted for him brings his confidence down to his feet. “Now that’s cold.”

 

Shrugging casually, Langley pats him on the back, “Sorry, man, that’s how it is.”

 

“But why would Mulder want to be in on something like that?”

 

“Could be to get back at us for the time we lured Scully out to Las Vegas pretending to be him. Look, don’t get upset, they probably didn’t mean anything by it. If she carries it too far, though, she’ll know,” he finishes grimly. He enjoys a prank as much as the next guy, but not when people actually get hurt.

 

X-X-X

 

At 12:15, Scully looks up when she hears the door click shut. She hadn’t realized Mulder had been gone, but he’s just now returning with lunch from upstairs. Placing a cup of soup on her desk, he catches her contented expression again.

 

“Thinking of loverboy?” He asks.

 

Shaking her head dismissively she blows on her soup. “Actually…I was thinking how nice it is to be back. I missed it.”

 

“Missed what?”

 

Gesturing around her, encompassing the entire room she clarifies, “This, here, being on the X-Files. It’s home.”

 

“I know.” Neither of them says more on the subject, though both of them are thinking what a blasphemy it was when they’d been reassigned and replaced. “I’m glad you think so.”

 

Shutting her laptop to fully enjoy her lunch break, Scully thinks hard about what she’d just said. It was true: this is home. What had originally been considered Spooky Mulder’s corner of the loony bin is her world, too. Not that she was a registered believer, but that didn’t make it any less hers. It serves to remind her of what she’d been talking about with Frohike the previous night, how this had been a major turning-point in her life. She dismisses thoughts of her date just as suddenly as they’d come. _Ludicrous,_ she chides herself, _absolutely ludicrous. We aren’t dating, we had one date. That’s it. End of story. What the hell am I thinking?_ A pesky little voice in her head questions her further, _Why did you tell him to call you? Hmm?_ Scully has the answer for that already, _I was just being polite. If he calls, great, if not, fine. I’m not going to pursue this any further. I’m not crazy._ There’s a moment of internal silence, Scully actually smiles to herself as she exhales triumphantly. Then: _So why are you talking to yourself?_

 

Mulder’s voice thankfully interrupts her inner dialogue. “How ‘bout this one?” He hands her a folder, jabbing the back of her hand with it to get her attention.

 

She opens it, reads a few lines, nodding appreciatively. “Now this I gotta see. But look, Mulder! This one’s dated 1973,” she growls, flinging it back at him. “No follow-up, no repeated occurrences…you must be desperate to get out of town if you missed that. We’ll keep it on file as a reference if something like it pops up, but until then it’s just another resident of the X-Files Reject Graveyard. What’s the matter today? You seem distracted.”

 

It’s true, and Mulder knows it. He honestly hasn’t been giving full attention to his work today. For some reason, every time he started reading through a potential case, his mind’s eye would fill with visions of Scully and Frohike _inflagrante._ He shudders again at the thought, wondering what she could possibly see in him. _What does he have that I haven’t got?_

 

With their usual uncanny ability to guess each other’s thoughts, Scully sighs. “You’re still hung up about my one little date, aren’t you?”

 

“‘Little’ would definitely be the word for it,” Mulder remarks derisively. “I just can’t figure it out. You and the King of the Mole People.”

 

“So you’re jealous.”

 

Mulder laughs, high and false, “Jealous? I…am not jealous,” he denies transparently. “You can go run around with whoever you want. You’re not my girlfriend.” He can’t keep the bitter regret out of his voice, making his last remark fall rather flat.

 

“When all we can trust is each other, I’d really rather you not lie to me,” Scully intones, sounding genuinely hurt by his lack of forthrightness. “We’re not just partners, Mulder. I thought we were friends.”

 

“We are.”

 

“Is Frohike your friend?”

 

Here, he fumbles a bit, “Well, for lack of a better word, yeah.”

 

Here, she draws a metaphorical ‘equals’ sign, “Well…?” When he refuses to answer to her implications, she gives up again. “I just hope you realize you’re making something out of nothing.”

 

As the clock ticks nearer and nearer to quitting time, both of them have abandoned all pretense of diligent work, so Scully is taken completely by surprise when the phone rings. “Scully,” she barks by force of habit.

 

For a few seconds, nothing can be heard on the other end of the line. Scully nearly hangs up when a familiar voice answers.

 

“Uh, hi…it’s me, Frohike…”

 

“Oh, hey, what’s going on?” Scully replies casually, trying not to give away who’s on the phone.

 

Now Frohike starts to get flustered, “It’s too soon, I’m sorry I called you at work, but it’s about quitting time and I thought…I mean what you said last night…I should’ve waited, I didn’t mean—Look, there’s a…thing going on at the museum in town this weekend, the art one not the natural history one…there was a flyer up at Starbuck’s anyway. Women go for that kind of thing, right? Look… forget I said anything, I’ll see you around.”

 

“Hang on! That…might work, actually. Uh, when did you have in mind?”

 

“Want me to pick you up or meet you there?”

 

Scully glances at Mulder, trying to come up with a way to answer that won’t be a dead giveaway what she’s up to. One look tells her it’s no use, he’s already shot her a mock kissy-face with a sarcastic smile. Rolling her eyes at him, she gets back to the object at hand. “Great, uh, pick me up tomorrow around…?”

 

“It’s an afternoon thing, 1:30 all right?”

 

“1:30’s fine. See you then.” Scully hangs up and sits back down, strangely relaxed. An unconscious smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Frohike and I are going to the art museum tomorrow,” she announces calmly.

 

“What, he’s not taking you to a gun show or something?”

 

Scully shrugs, “That would be fun, too, maybe next time.” _Next time? What am I saying?! There’s not going to be a next time!_ And with that she slips on her jacket, packs away her computer and heads out the door.

 

 

X-X-X

 

Frohike hangs up the phone, getting a disapproving look from Langley and a suspicious one from Byers. “Tomorrow. 1:30. Art show.”

 

Byers loosens his tie and runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, it does sound kind of funny. No offense, but why’d she want to go out with you?”

 

By now, Frohike is ready to defend himself, “Because I showed her a good time last night. And maybe, just maybe, she thought it was worth doing again.”

 

“Or maybe it’s something else,” Byers cautions. “Look, I don’t like to think that about either of them, but it’s just fishy. I just hope they get to the punch line soon.”

 

 

When Scully gets home from work, she drapes her jacket over a chair and tosses her keys onto the kitchen table. After dumping her purse and laptop bag, she heads back to her room for a look in her closet. _What am I doing? Who cares how I look? I do._ She obstinately ripostes, selecting something appropriate. After flipping through several seemingly identical suits, she finds a dark green cocktail dress in the back of the closet. It obviously hasn’t been worn in years. She stares at it, letting the silky material slide through her fingers, debating whether it was worth wearing tomorrow.

 

“Probably doesn’t even fit,” she mutters to herself, almost hopefully. Slipping out of her work clothes, she pulls the dress over her head and zips it up. She didn’t even need to hold her breath! Gazing at her reflection in her dresser mirror, she turns around halfway, examining it from all angles, looking for flaws. Finding none, and unable to deny its perfect fit, Scully figures that’s what she’ll wear the next day. She feels strangely pleased as she hangs it back up, hooking the hanger over the door, she hasn’t had the opportunity to really dress up for something in a long time. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a favorite sweater, she goes back out to the kitchen and pops a frozen dinner in the microwave.

 

Throughout the rest of the evening, she finds herself making preparations for the next day. After steaming her dress and shaking out the wrinkles, she picks out a suitable necklace to go with it. She removes her cross necklace she wears so often, holding a braided silver chain to her throat to examine the effect. Deciding against her high heels, she opts instead for a lower pair, not wanting to tower over her date when in reality they’re fairly equal in height. _‘My date’, what in the world? He’s not ‘my date’, it’s Frohike. Why am I even trying to look special for this? For all I know he’ll show up in a Spiderman t-shirt and cargo pants. Sandals with socks._ She laughs at the mental image of what’s likely to come. _Still, it’s an art show, and I should at least dress appropriately for the occasion, regardless of how he dresses for it._

 

 

 

“Okay, guys, what do I wear to one of these things?” Frohike asks the room at large, suddenly acutely aware of the situation that’s soon to unfold. “It didn’t say anything about the dress code.”

 

The other two exchange looks, seeing that their friend is resigned to believing the validity of his date. “Well, do you have a suit?” Byers asks, trying to be helpful.

 

“Not the leisure suit,” Langley puts in, making an accurate guess as to his friend’s wardrobe.

 

“If not, just black slacks and a button-down shirt should do fine. Scully will probably be dressed up, so don’t make her look bad.”

 

“Right…” Frohike says, now glad he’d asked. He had been inclined just to wear what he always wears. Imagining the appalled look Scully might have worn had he stuck to his original choice, he decides to hunt for something a bit more upscale.

 


	3. The Second Date

 

It’s Saturday and they’re both getting ready in earnest. As 1:30 draws closer, Frohike is getting increasingly nervous. His hands fumble as he splashes on cologne, giving himself a much heavier dose than he’d intended. “Maybe she won’t notice,” he mutters to himself as he slicks back his hair.

 

“You survived one date with her already, why are you worked up now?” Byers asks, hanging around for moral support.

 

“I didn’t know I’d be entertaining Scully when I went out Thursday night! Once I get to her place I’ll be fine,” he promises, not altogether convincingly. “How do I look?” He’s wearing black pleated pants, a royal blue dress shirt, and slip-on loafers with little tassels on them.

 

Nodding—it was better than he’d expected, Byers approves. “Fine. Now just hope you don’t clash with her.”

 

“Clash?”

 

“Like, if you get to her place and she’s wearing a different shade of blue or something.”

 

Frohike looks like he’s about ready to tear his hair out, “You’re telling me this _now?_ How am I…what…is that really what people do? Try to match with each other?”

 

“I’m not saying people dress alike, necessarily, but you look better as a couple if your clothes compliment each other. Don’t worry, she knows it’s you.”

 

Not sure how to take this last remark, Frohike gives himself one last look in the mirror, pulls on a black leather jacket and heads out.

 

 

He reaches Scully’s apartment and knocks on the door. When she opens the door, his eyes nearly pop out of his head! Now that he sees her like this, he starts to see there might be something to his friends’ suspicions. _Why would someone like that be seen anywhere with me?_ To his surprise, she flashes him a quick smile in greeting.

 

“I’m actually looking forward to this,” she confesses. “I don’t get out to do anything for fun very often. Thanks for inviting me. You clean up all right.” He’s still staring at her like he’s never seen her before, hardly daring to believe his good fortune; his silence is starting to get awkward. She makes a quick retreat back inside to grab her purse, and when he follows her in she gets a rather concentrated whiff of Old Spice emanating from her date. Before she can stop herself, she sneezes three times in a row.

 

“I had a little trouble…” he admits, starting to feel embarrassed.

 

Scully suggests, “Well, if you want to wash up at all…otherwise it’s not so bad. Just…strong.” Imagining being in an enclosed space with him makes her hope he’ll take her up on the offer. To her relief, she hears running water. When she comes back out of her room with her purse, she sees him buttoning his shirt back up, now looking rather damp around the collar.

 

Once they’re in the car and on the way, Frohike slyly asks, “So, what’s Mulder think of this?”

 

Scully laughs shortly, “He’s such a baby, acting like he’s in 5th grade or something. It actually bugged him we met up the other day.”

 

Frohike exhales in relief, glad it isn’t some kind of a plot the two of them came up with, and he doesn’t believe she’d lie to him like that on her own.

 

“The guys can’t get over it, either. They thought maybe Mulder put you up to it as a joke. I mean, you gotta admit, this was unexpected.”

 

She reaches over and pats his arm, “I know. Still, it’s nice to get out and about sometimes without the risk of getting shot.” A warm, happy bubble is rising up inside her for some reason, they haven’t even done anything yet and she’s already having a good time.

 

“Got your Kevlar on under that?”

 

“Nah, it would spoil the line.”

 

“What if something happens?”

 

“What do you think I have in my purse?” She opens it a crack, showing her cell phone, ID, and weapon of choice.

 

As they pull in, they see others arriving as well, in various ranges of dress. Both Scully and Frohike are silently glad they erred on the side of being too formal rather than too casual. Today’s primary exhibitor seems to favor abstract art, something neither of them knows that much about. Frohike takes a champagne flute for himself and his date and they peruse the area. Scully plants herself in front of one painting with her arms crossed, looking at it thoughtfully. It’s a white base splashed with branching spirals in bold primary colors. She sips her drink and gestures towards the painting.

 

“Know what that reminds me of?”

 

“What?”

 

“Mandelbrot. See? Fractals,” she points out details with a smile. “Just proves he was right, they’re everywhere. Occurring in nature, architecture, and the mind.” Scully gazes at it appreciatively, seeing strange beauty in something rather esoteric.

 

_I’m on a date with a beautiful math nerd,_ Frohike observes to himself. “Yeah, I see it, too.” He sneakily puts his arm around her, and is pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t push him away. Together, they meander to the next painting, looking for a familiar frame of reference.

 

“Now, what do you see?” She asks him invitingly.

 

“It looks like Dwarvish runes. What do you see?”

 

After pondering it for a few seconds, Scully decides, “A strain of klebsiella. Wouldn’t want to hang it on my wall if that’s what it is, but it must’ve taken ages to do. Look at those brushstrokes!”

 

“I couldn’t quite say it earlier, but you look beautiful,” he murmurs confidentially, openly admiring her.

 

“Oh. I haven’t worn this dress in so long, I’m surprised it even fit.”

 

“Now don’t start,” he rebukes shortly, taking her by surprise.

 

“Start what?”

 

Frohike takes her hand and draws her away from lines of traffic. “You know, acting all girly. ‘Oh, this old thing?’ You’re not like that and we both know it. If I say something nice, don’t die of shock. Just say thank you and be done with it.”

 

Scully nods, seeing the sense in that, “All right. Thank you.”

 

He looks her up and down again, taking in the full effect before remarking, “Set your phasers on stunning,” getting a giggle out of her.

 

A few servers are circling around with trays of hors d’oeuvres. It’s pretty standard fare for a flight of appetizers: bacon-wrapped scallops, duck confit in phyllo shells, mini beef skewers, pâté and gougeres. Frohike goes to several different servers and gets some of everything, handing the plate to Scully.

 

“Look, I appreciate it, but I can’t eat all of this!”

 

“The votes are in, you’re too skinny. We’re all waiting for a strong wind to knock you over.” To Scully’s relief he ‘helps’ her with his share of the goodies. They get their champagne refilled, putting them both in a good mood. They wander through the rest of the exhibit hall, remarking on the various pieces, not feeling nearly as out of place as they thought they would.

 

As they finish their savory hors d’oeuvres, they see that dessert is on the way. They’re a bit more modest in their takings this time, a few chocolate covered strawberries apiece is all they feel up for. They listen in to a few more artistically inclined people remarking on the paintings, making Scully in particular hope no one heard her uneducated assessments. Barely had that thought crossed her mind than a young man approaches. He’s tall, about 20, with dark hair, dressed in a tux.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

 

She turns around, feeling suddenly guilty for some unknown reason. “Yes?”

 

“I listened to you earlier, talking about the piece out in front. You mentioned…something about fractals?”

 

Blushing deep red, she nods silently. “Look, I don’t really know anything about this…medium, I was just with my friend here and--”

 

“Well, I just thought I’d tell you that you hit the mark.”

 

“Do you know the artist, then?”

 

“I _am_ the artist. This is my show. That one was one of my favorites to do, but I heard a few people suggesting it represents futility or some junk like that. I’m happy someone here can see what’s in front of them.” And without another word he leaves to mingle with the other guests.

 

Frohike takes her hand again and gives it a squeeze, “How about that? That’s nerd power for you.” Realizing she might not appreciate his choice in words, he fumbles incoherently, “What I meant was, I…”

 

“I know what you mean.” She can’t help but feel strangely pleased. As much as she’s given the Lone Gunmen a hard time in the past, they are part of the team, joining their crusade for the Truth. In a way, she feels as though she’d broken through some sort of ‘no girls allowed’ rule in their little gang, that they see her as being just as good as any of them. Frohike had been her least favorite of the three, generally stemming from his cavalier attitude towards the opposite sex, but even before their first date her opinion of him had already begun to soften. The defining moment where he’d earned her trust was fairly recent, and she’d mentioned it to him during their previous engagement. He’d had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her when he’d found her drugged in Las Vegas, but instead proved to be her chivalrous rescuer, bringing her back to the safety of the fold without so much as a wandering hand. It just proves the notion that people can and will act the way they should, given the right circumstance.

 

When they’ve seen as much as they cared to, Frohike escorts Scully back to the car to drive her home. He leans across the con, taking her hand. “I had a good time with you today, thanks for coming.” He then screws up his courage and kisses her hand.

 

Scully’s heart skips a beat without her knowing why; she smiles back and says, “Who said the day has to be over? There’s a gun show going on at the reception hall just on the other side of town. Want to check it out?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure. They probably even have some sword stands. You could pick up a katana or something.”

 

He hadn’t had any other plans for the day, and any excuse to spend more time in Scully’s company sounds good. “Sure. Need to change first?”

 

Looking down at her dress, she shrugs, “I think they’ll let me in. I’m glad I wore comfortable shoes today.”

 

 

 

By the time they actually get heading home, the sun is setting. Scully dozes in the passenger seat, tired out from a long day on her feet, but a good day nonetheless. She’d gotten a complementary gun-cleaning at the show, and she’d picked up a new laser sight for night use. Frohike had found a sword concealed in a pimp-cane, even though he admitted it probably wouldn’t see much action. It would be fun to have, nonetheless.

 

She isn’t paying close attention to the roads they take anymore, trusting her date to know the way. When they come to a stop on an unfamiliar street, however, Scully suspects he might have gotten turned around in the dark.

 

“Just sit tight, I’ll be right back,” he tells her before leaving the car. He’s only gone for a few minutes before she hears his footsteps again. The trunk pops. _He must’ve hit the button on the keychain instead of the door lock, I do that all the time,_ Scully thinks to herself as she hears him slam it shut again. He takes his seat next to her again and drives the rest of the way back to her place. He opens the door and helps her out onto the curb, then pops open the trunk again. He returns with something large and square wrapped in brown paper. A ‘sold’ price tag flutters out of it onto the street.

 

“What’s that?”

 

Tongue-tied again, Frohike stammers, “It’s, uh, I…got it at the…thing back at…I wanted to get it for y…It looked like you liked it so…”

 

No longer remotely sleepy, Scully snaps to attention. They walk up the stairs and open the door. Once they’re inside her apartment again she stares at the package he’d just handed her. He’d bought her a painting. Knowing full well what some of them were listed at, she feels sick on Frohike’s behalf. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“I hope you like it. It’s signed and everything.”

 

She peels off the wrapping and sees it was the first one she’d seen and commented on. The one she and the artist had (briefly) discussed. It warms her right down to her toes. “Oh, Mel…” she sighs in amazement, giving his first name a more endearing sound than she’s ever lain on his last name. Laying it against the couch for the time being, Scully takes his face in her hands and kisses him. It was meant to be a short thank-you kind of kiss, but he responds in full force. They stand there with their arms around each other, tenderly sipping at each other for nearly a solid minute. When they break apart, they’re both flushed and breathless, and understandably confused as hell.

 

“Scully…” he gasps. Slowly, she shakes her head. He gets the message. Running a hand through her hair, he whispers, “Dana.”

 

She places her hand over his, staring back at him. “What in the world am I thinking?”

 

“I have no idea.” From the hall, the clock starts chiming 7. “I should go, the guys probably think something happened.”

 

“I’m starting to think the same thing myself,” Scully coyly remarks. It’s the first time he’s heard her use a suggestive tone with him, and he likes it.

 

“Maybe it did.” He kisses her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”

 

“Good night.”

 


	4. With Friends Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...

 

The next morning as she’s coming back from church, Scully sees Mulder’s car in the parking lot. She hears the TV from out in the hall, slightly irritated that he’d just let himself in and made himself at home. Once inside, she sees Mulder on the couch watching football.

 

“Hey, Scully,” he casually greets her. Checking his watch, he adds, “Church must’ve run late today.” Scully gives him a pointed look and holds up a palm branch. The implications are lost on him. “What? You brought me a shrubbery?”

 

“It’s Palm Sunday, Mulder. It always runs long when they read the Passion. Thank God that’s over,” she adds most un-piously as she nudges his feet away to make room on the couch. Once cleared, she drops down next to him. “So how long have you been waiting? What’s going on?”

 

“I just got here a minute ago, I was sure you’d be back before now so sorry for barging in like this. I’d have waited outside but it’s cold out. I just wanted to hear how it went yesterday.”

 

“Look at that,” Scully tells him with a broad smile, pointing behind them on the wall. The thoughtfulness of the gift still makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She eagerly awaits Mulder’s assessment.

 

He stands, looking at the painting curiously. “Uh…interesting. Your boyfriend bought this for you?”

 

She’s quiet for a few seconds, then replies, still smiling devilishly, “Yep.”

 

Mulder doesn’t quite know how to take this turn of events. The day before yesterday she’d been denying up and down that there was anything between herself and Frohike. Now she deliberately passed up the chance at another round of ‘he’s not my boyfriend’. On the one hand, he’s happy they’d had a good time, but on the other hand he’s distinctly jealous of the old hacker. “So now he’s your boyfriend?”

 

“I don’t know, I think so. Maybe.”

 

He’s not sure he can take this, she’s grinning serenely up at him like he’s never seen her do before. _She’s been smiling a lot lately_ , he notes. _Since Thursday. Like someone’s finally given her a reason to._ There’s a twinge of regret that it hadn’t been him.

 

“So, what happened? Spill,” he coaxes.

 

“Well, we went to the art show, and neither of us knows that much about abstract art so we had a game going of telling each other what we saw instead of guessing what the artist had intended. Then, we took your idea.”

 

“My idea?”

 

Scully nods, “We went to the gun show downtown.” She shows him her gun with the new sight attached.

 

“Ol’ Bessie got all polished up, huh? Looks good.”

 

“Then on the way home he stopped back at the museum and bought me the painting. I don’t even _want_ to know what it cost, but he insisted.”

 

Mulder puts on a baby-talk tone, “Did you give him a widdle kiss?” Expecting—hoping—for a denial and a playful slap, to his surprise Scully shifts guiltily, examining her nails. “You’re serious? You kissed him?”

 

If he wants to hear about it, he’s going to have to hear _all_ about it! “There was a lot of kissing, actually,” she replies, feeling her face grow warm. “Who knew the man had hidden talents?”

 

It’s impossible for Mulder to keep the horror off his face. “Ugh…Scully! I just threw up in my mouth a little! You’re serious, then? You like him?”

 

Hurt, but unsurprised, by Mulder’s reaction, she owns up, “Yes. I do.”

 

Seeing her reaction makes him regret his crass behavior. The sour grapes act isn’t very becoming. He’d had his chance and missed it, and now there’s nothing he can do about it. Still, it’s not worth losing her as a friend. He puts his arm around her and gives her shoulder a pat. “I’m happy for you.” And as soon as he says it, Mulder finds that it’s true. For the past few days she’s been _happy_ , why should he try to spoil that? “It’s just weird, though.”

 

“I know. _Believe_ me, I know.” Scully stares blankly up at the ceiling. “He’s sweet,” she says simply. “I never would’ve thought…but he’s full of surprises.”

 

Trying not to imagine what ‘surprises’ his friend might be proficient in, Mulder tries to keep the subject pleasant. “So, what’s Date #3 going to be?”

 

“I don’t know. Something he likes, maybe. What would he like to do? Within reason?” She amends quickly. Her recent change of opinion towards the man has done nothing to dull her memory of his more colorful eccentricities.

 

Mulder has to think about it to come up with something appropriate. “Uh…hey, there’s a new Star Wars coming out in a few weeks. You could go see that together.”

 

Scully is back up, putting her jacket away. She turns back to him quizzically. “Really? The last one was in 1983! Bit of a gap, don’t you think?” She pulls a white sweater over her head and smoothes the static out of her hair.

 

Mulder scratches his head, stretching his neck, “It’s supposed to be a prequel. We get to see Darth Vader as a kid. I just hope they don’t ruin it.”

 

Scully nods, taking his suggestion into consideration. Then her calm exterior slips and she flops back hard against the couch. “What in the world am I doing?!” Replaying the events of her first two dates with Frohike, she’s still surprised and bewildered. “ _What_ in the world am I _doing?_ ”

 

“Look, I’m glad things are going well. If I start acting like a jerk again, you have my permission to kick some sense into me.”

 

“I wouldn’t have waited for your permission,” Scully drawls. They sit together in silence for a few minutes, neither of them really feels the need to say anything. The sound of her phone ringing jars them both.

 

“Scully,” she answers, consciously using a softer tone than usual in case it’s a certain someone on the other end.

 

Sure enough, Frohike’s voice answers meekly, “Hi…Dana.” He still sounds like he’s testing the sound of it. To be on first-name basis with her is still a gift.

 

“Mel, hi!” Her warm greeting makes Mulder’s eyebrows hike up to dangerous levels. “I was just showing Mulder the painting. Yeah, he likes it…”

 

He stares at her as she talks, she’s practically cuddled up to the phone, as though it would bring her nearer the man on the other end. Then he sees her expression become confused. She looks up at him with wondering eyes, giving him the strong impression that something is wrong.

 

“Uh, sure I can come over. What’s going on?”

 

Frohike sounds worried, too, but beats around the bush, like either he doesn’t know or he’s not at liberty to say. “They say there’s something we need to discuss…in person.”

 

From the quality of the sound, Scully suspects someone else is listening in. “Discuss what? Is someone in trouble?”

 

Suddenly, Langley’s voice cuts in harshly, “You are.” And the line goes dead.

 

She stares at the phone in her hand blankly for a few seconds, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach. _What did he mean, I’m in trouble? More so than usual?_ “Hey, I…I gotta go.”

 

“Let me know how it works out. Call me whenever.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

All the way there, Scully feels like all the happiness had been sucked out of her, bringing her unceremoniously back into the real world and all its dangers. Hoping fervently that whatever trouble there is, it won’t be more than she can deal with. She knocks on the door as a courtesy before turning the handle to let herself in. She’s stopped at the doorway by Byers and Langley.

 

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?”

 

The two men look at each other, then back at her. Byers starts in, “Scully…I’m sorry it has to be this way. We’ve worked together in the past, but…after what you did…” he trails off, chickening out.

 

Scully looks at them, she clearly has no idea what he’s talking about. “Wh…what?”

 

“You’re out. End of story,” Langley tells her shortly. He looks absolutely disgusted with her.

 

“Out?”

 

“Out. I must say I overestimated you. I never would’ve thought you’d stoop so low.”  
  


That’s about as much circumlocution as she can take. “What did I do? What do you _think_ I did?” She demands.

 

“Like you don’t know,” Langley mutters darkly. “After what you did to Frohike?” He laughs humorlessly. “He honestly thinks you’ve been on the level with him. He’s starting to come around, though. You make me sick. Now beat it.” Both men withdraw inside and slam the door. The sound of several bolts tells her it’s useless to follow them.

She stands outside, bewildered. Knowing roughly where their security cameras are, she looks around, hoping Frohike will see her on a monitor and let her in. Or at least come out himself. It’s then that she hears a gun go off and a ricocheting bullet whine near her. Taking the warning shot for what it is, Scully decides to exercise the better part of valor and get in her car. Quickly, she dials Mulder’s number.

 

“Hey, it’s me. Look, Mulder you have to get here right away. Something’s going on, I’m not altogether sure but they’ve officially torn up my membership and started shooting at me.”

 

“Who did? The guys?”

 

“Uh huh. Just get here, they’ll listen to you.” She hangs up and waits, slouched down in her seat in case her former friends get trigger-happy again. Minutes drag out, she knows it will take some time for Mulder to get there and help. Her phone rings.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Dana,” Frohike whispers. “Look, I don’t believe them, all right?”

 

She knows they don’t have long to talk. Scully looks out her car window at the building, wondering if he can see her. “They’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t--”

 

“I know. I tried telling them. They still think it’s an elaborate hoax.” He doesn’t say that he’d nearly believed it himself. If it hadn’t been for the kisses they’d shared last night, her tone of voice when she spoke to him, the way she had let him near her, touching her nearly all day yesterday. He believes her motives are genuine.

 

“Mulder’s coming,” she whispers, taking the cue to be as quiet as possible.

 

“Good, I hope he can straighten this mess out. I don’t know how he can, though. Ah, I see you now. I think you can sit up, they’re done taking shots. They just did it to scare you, I think. I hope.”

 

Scully smiles, feeling strangely comforted that he’s watching her.

 

In a few minutes, Mulder arrives. She gets out of her car and joins him on the front steps. When he knocks, the door opens a crack, the chain still intact.

 

“What’s going on, guys?” He asks, arms folded in an altogether unconvincing portrayal of nonchalance. “Scully says you’ve been shooting at her?”  
  


Byers sighs and unchains the door. He lets Mulder in but still bars Scully’s entrance. “Look, I don’t want it to be true…”

 

Scully runs a hand through her hair, giving him a look that tells him she’s losing her patience. “Then why don’t you listen? None of you have even given me a chance to explain!”

 

“Why are you giving Frohike the idea you’re seeing each other?”

 

“Because we are! Look, I know it’s a bit strange, but we’ve all dealt with much more unbelievable things than my personal life. I appreciate you protecting him, but he doesn’t need protection from me.” There’s a heavy silence between them, they overhear snatches of Langley’s version of events to Mulder, casting Scully as some sort of tease. “It’s not true,” she states firmly.

 

As unbelievable as her story is, combined with the fact that it matches Frohike’s breakdown of things, Byers finds himself believing her. That she’d find anything pleasant or attractive in his friend is no less strange, but now he can see from her tone, her posture, the look in her eyes that she’s not playing with him. What’s more, she wouldn’t.

 

“Look…I don’t think I should let you in just yet…I’ll talk to him, though.” Then he calls into the next room. “Hey, Frohike! Your girlfriend’s here!” Turning back to Scully he admits, “Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. Especially referring to you.” He leaves them alone for the time being, figuring they’d want some privacy.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Frohike begins, getting a dismissing gesture in return. “I’m sure they’ll come around. Neither of them knows quite what to think of…”

 

 

“Us,” Scully supplies, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. That she’d be an “us” with Melvin Frohike was still rather far-fetched even for her. They stand a little ways apart, touching hands experimentally with matching odd little smirks. Neither of them can still quite believe the change that’s suddenly taken place between the two of them. She can no longer deny the giddy, floating feeling she’s starting to associate with him.

 

“Look, I’m going to shut the door, we’re letting in a draft. But I’m still here. We can still talk, all right?” Scully nods, and he gently lets the door drift shut.

 

 

Meanwhile, inside, Mulder is finished representing Scully’s case. “You haven’t seen her these past few days. She’s _happy_ , like Lando Calrissian shooting out of the Death Star happy. Weird as it might sound, I think she’s got a thing for him.”

 

Langley lets his attention get drawn in by their surveillance monitor. He sees Scully sitting with her back to the door, obviously in deep conversation. “She doesn’t look that happy. She’s talking to him and she looks like she’s going to be sick, look.” He taps a few keys and zooms in. It’s true, her expression is troubled, frustrated, as though she’s in an intense battle with herself. She sits with her knees tucked up, hunched over herself with her head in her hands, then she shifts, laying her head against the door as if to better hear the man on the other side.

 

Mulder watches, too, with a vastly different take on it. “Wow…it’s worse than I thought.”

 

“See?”

 

“I…I think she’s in love. Look at her. All twisted up inside. All she wants is behind Door Number 1 and she can’t even wrap her head around it. And _you_ , her supposed friends start jumping to conclusions and making the whole thing all the more difficult.”

 

Byers nods, “If I didn’t see it I wouldn’t believe it…but that’s no act.”

 

“They’ve only gone out together twice.”

 

Mulder shrugs, “Sometimes that’s all it takes. Come on, it’s Scully. You know her. She’d never play a trick like that. Think she has that much time on her hands?”

 

“Even if she did, she wouldn’t spend it on something like that,” Byers agrees.

 

When they put it that way, Langley can see the sense of it. “Oh, fine. Look, I’m sorry, but you know how it looked. I just didn’t want to see him make a fool of himself I guess.”

 

 

The door opens, they all wave Scully in, all parties look relieved that the crisis is over. She and Frohike grin at each other like a pair of besotted teenagers, giving further evidence that they’re for real. She cautiously regards the others, looking at each of them one by one. She crosses her arms over her chest, and waits for an apology.

 

“Sorry,” they both mutter lamely.

 

Scully rolls her eyes, figuring that’s the best she can expect out of them. She turns to Frohike and takes his hands. “I’m not sure what my week ahead looks like, but we’ll be in touch.”

 

He squeezes her hands and draws her in, gripped with the desire to commit a PDA. The look on Scully’s face tells him she’s game as well. Looping her arms up around his shoulders while he holds her by the waist, they share their first semi-public kiss. The only thing to keep it from getting out of control is the knowledge that they’re not alone. Scully leans against him with a pleased sigh, simply resting in his embrace. Frohike looks over her at their friends, taking in their startled faces ranging from envy to nausea. It’s as though they all have cartoon thought bubbles over their heads, all of them demanding “How???”

 

“Dana… we’re making a spectacle of ourselves.” He pushes her back gently. “Go on home, I’ll see you later.”

 

“’Kay.” She giggles, feeling very silly right now, and practically floats out the door. They all hear her car start and she drives off.

 

Mulder breaks the silence at last. “All of you saw that, right? It’s not just me, right? They were…she…and him…and…”

 

“Lando Calrissian shooting out of the Death Star happy,” Langley agrees.

 

Frohike bounces past all three of them, “What can I say? Some of us got it, some of us don’t.”

 


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that would be telling

 

Things continue on like this for several weeks. For their belated “one month anniversary” they see Star Wars Episode I together and are both equally disappointed. They go back to his place to wash their eyes out by watching the original. He hasn’t let familiarity dull his fascination with the beautiful woman who gladly calls herself his girlfriend. He still touches her as though she was made of glass. Most of the time he can relax and just be happy to be with her; however, some moments he’s still amazed at their togetherness. Watching her sleep next to him on the couch, her head against his chest as the end credits rolled, he is again amazed at his good fortune. She’s the first woman to willingly spend time with him that doesn’t charge by the hour. After their first couple of dates, their get-togethers had been sporadic, owing mainly to Scully’s workload. Whenever she could get a weekend off, though, they’d see each other. As happy as they both are with how things are going, Frohike wonders if she’s ever bothered by their glaring differences. So far, she’s said nothing, and acted as though everything is just peachy, so he’s not the type of guy to try to fix what isn’t broken. They call each other nearly every day, a habit that began after Scully had a near miss on a stakeout. She’d called afterwards to let him know she’s okay. After that, it became routine. Those little things that Scully brought to the relationship make Frohike start to feel as though he’s being domesticated. It’s nice, in a way, but…his thoughts are cut short when Scully wakes up from her nap with a soft chuckle. “Oh, _now_ you’re awake. What’s so funny?”

 

 

 

“Us. I mean that in a good way.”

 

 

 

They cuddle a bit more, when the clock comes into view. “I think I’d better get you home. Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m losing feeling in my arm.”

 

 

 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, sitting up, stretching as she gets ready to stand. She hunts around a bit for her jacket and purse while he shuts off the VCR.

 

 

 

They’re both quiet on the way back to her place, occasionally casting fond glances at each other. Frohike isn’t offended by the way she’s still amused by the mismatched couple they make, as long as she seems happy about it. He follows her inside, looking pensively around. It’s true that peoples’ homes reflect on the ones living there. The contrast between their living arrangements is all the more obvious tonight. Her apartment is open, spotless, and homey. Compared to it, his place looks like a dungeon, fit only for people who abhor daylight, normal society, and generally the world at large. _Do I want to drag her down into that?_

 

 

 

Scully catches his thoughtful expression, curious what he’s thinking about. “Something wrong?”

 

 

 

He sees no other choice. It’s bound to hurt them both, but he’s determined to do the right thing. “Dana…what is this?”

 

 

 

“What’s what?”

 

 

 

“What are we doing? I mean, look at us. We…”

 

 

 

This lead-in doesn’t bode well, Scully can sense the seriousness of the situation. “Mel…?”

 

 

 

The way she says his name nearly makes him chicken out. He paces the floor in frustration, trying to force himself to keep talking. “Did you read Thumbelina when you were a kid?”

 

 

 

“What? Yeah, I guess so.”

 

 

 

“You know the part where the mole wants to marry her and drag her down into his dark hole forever?” She nods, still confused. “I…I can’t _do_ that to you. I can’t. You’re a creature of the air and light. You’re not…fit for someone like me. You’re better than that.”

 

 

 

For a minute, she’s unable to grasp that he’s breaking up with her. “You think I’m too good for you? Like I’m some kind of snob? Like that chick who blew you off at Francine’s?”

 

 

 

“No, not like that! Definitely not like that. It’s just…don’t you see?”

 

 

 

By now she can see his mind is made up, but she still has to have her say. “But, I--”

 

 

 

Frohike stops her, knowing what she’s about to say. What he’d kill to hear her say. “Don’t. Don’t say something you can’t take back.” He takes in her face, looking hurt and surprised by this sudden turn of events. Not twenty minutes ago they were cuddled up on his couch watching Star Wars, now this. He sits on the arm of her chair, draping his arm around her. She cuddles in one last time. At least he suspects that she understands why it must be done. That it’s hurting him as much as it is her. He kisses the back of her hand, brushing her hair back from her face. “We’re still friends, though, okay? If you need anything, don’t hesitate. Two in the morning, Christmas Eve, in the middle of an ice storm. Any time. All right?” Scully nods. He kisses her forehead. “It was nice while it lasted, though, wasn’t it?” Again, she doesn’t trust herself to speak. He lets himself out.

 

 

 

Once he’s gone, it’s then that Scully feels the knife twist inside her. She’d let her shields down and this is what she gets for it. Resolved that love is something meant for other people, she viciously scrubs away bitter tears. She stalks up to her stereo and finds the soundtrack to “Highlander”, figuring she needs some good brooding music to reflect her mood.

 

 

 

Little does she know that Frohike is doing the exact same thing back at his place. _I broke up with Dana Scully. She loves me and I broke up with her. What’s the matter? Why can’t I do anything right? The look on her face…God, she made me forget! She made me feel like a human being, like I’m somebody! Please don’t let her hate me. If I never see her again…_

 

 

 

Scully sits in her darkened living room, a few candles lit, sipping a glass of wine and staring at the painting he’d bought for her. She’d been tempted to throw it out, destroy it somehow, or give it away. Now she can’t bear the thought. She’s still sad about the way it had ended, but as she thinks about it, there really wasn’t a future for them. He was right in many ways. She’d been sensing differences as well, maybe not as self-deprecatingly as Frohike had described, but… _This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_ , her thoughts echo Queen’s lyrics. Nothing good lasts forever. The two of them can at least be glad they had each other for a month. Long enough to forget how different they were. _He made me forget…he made me feel human again._ That they could bring that out of each other, only to lose it is what hurts the most. _And it’s hurting him, too. He didn’t want to, I could tell. He picked a fine time to develop a sense of honor!_ She cracks a watery smile as she gently abuses him in her mind. Scully crosses her arms over her chest, already missing being close to him. They’d remain friends, colleagues; they wouldn’t let their brief affair ruin their previous relationship. It’s bad enough to be broken up, to lose him completely would be unbearable.

 

 

 

It’s 2am, and Frohike’s phone rings. Heaving a sigh, he picks it up. “Hello?” he answers groggily.

 

 

 

“Hey…Look, it’s all right. I understand.”

 

 

 

“Dana…”

 

 

 

“I miss you.”

 

 

 

“I miss you, too. I’ll see you around, okay?”

 

 

 

“Yeah…see you. Good night.”

 

 

 

“Good night.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
